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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Drama / Human Interest
- Subject: Art / Music / Theater / Dance
- Published: 06/27/2017
Could you write for everybody?
Born 1951, M, from Wilmington NC, United StatesI am old now. I can feel seventy breathing down my neck and swelling my knees. I have trouble swallowing-sometimes, and I forget almost as much as I remember. But, I still like stories. All kinds of stories. I have lived long enough that most of them are true, and even the ones that are not, well, they have truths to tell within them. And so…:
“What are you doing Dad?”
“Oh, Hello Honey. I was just sitting here thinking about how to write a story that everyone would like. “
“Wow. That’s quite the goal.” (She chuckled in that same highly amused tone that she did as a child)
“Well, I think it can be done. Maybe. Okay, maybe not. I am not sure. “
“Dad, I can’t think of a single thing that everyone agrees on, let alone a story.”
“Oh, I can Honey.”
“What? Tell me just one thing that everyone agrees on.”
This time it was me that chuckled. Age gives one perspective, a perspective not available to the young. It is the perspective that says: “Never is rarely used correctly, one thing leads to another, and what is surprising about surprises is that you never run out of them in life.”
“Air. Water. Food.”
“Dad! That is what everyone needs, not what they agree on.” She smiled confidently (if a tad condescendingly at her Father)
“Oh, I must disagree with you. Those are not only needs, but needs that everyone would agree we need. They might argue about how much of each, how food should taste, what qualifies as a clean, and things like that; but they would all agree they are necessary.”
(She softened her smile as it turned wry)
“Good point.” (She tousled what was left of his hair; a gentle familiar gesture that rewarded them both)
“But what I want to do Honey, is write a story that everyone would agree is a good story. One that has something for everyone in it. “
“What about love? Doesn’t everyone want love in their life?”
(This time, it was me, who looked up at her with smiling eyes. Leave it to my daughter to believe that everyone needs, deserves, and wants to be loved. I am so proud of her, my eyes are shiny with the glow of her kindness to all: her little sister, her husband, her children, her Mom, Me, and a whole host of other folks who brushed up against her spirit for a bit and found a kind word, hug, or smile tangled up in the rest of their day.)
“I used to think so. Now…well, some folks only want to love themselves and find other folks to be dull, uninteresting, or shallow. I am not sure loving yourself counts as a way of loving.”
Her forehead wrinkled in thought. Her Dad could be intense some times, and his intelligence sometimes seeped out through his words. She knew she would have to think about what he was saying for a long while.
“But Dad, you once told us that learning to be our own best friends and treating ourselves with the same kindness, consideration, and support that we glibly supply our friends and loved ones with - was the hardest lesson to learn. And isn’t that self - love?”
Once again I was struck by how well most people, including my daughter, could reason, if given a reason to think.
“Remember what I said was the biggest hurdle in learning to love yourself?”
She laughed. (It sounded, like it always did to me, like Angel Chimes. I am convinced that the real language of Angels is not music, but laughter)
“Sure. You told us all a million times ( She straightened up, got a serious look on her face, and with a voice filled with pedantic overtones did a very close impersonation of me at my most, well, pedantic.):
‘The most difficult person to forgive is…yourself. For it means you actually took the time to learn who you are. That you aren’t always correct, perfect, or logical, that you have faults, shortcomings, bad habits, and that you are not perfect, and don’t have to be. Then, and only then, can you acknowledge that you made a mistake (or two, or three, or more) and forgive yourself.'”
I clapped my hands at her performance, laughing with the accuracy of it. She stood politely and bowed to the audience of one, made a curtsy and sat back down in the chair next to my writing desk.
“That is why I am stuck trying to write this story that everyone would like. Everyone likes something, but not all things. I wanted to write about love, loss, success, failure, health, and all the many things that people come up with to make their lives full, or empty. For I have lived long enough to know that some people, not the majority, but enough to count; do not want love, friendship, achievement, or to grow. Happiness is not only beyond their reach, it is beyond their ken. “
“Well, Dad, what story would everyone like then?”
“I used to think it would be their story. From birth to wherever they are now in life. But I have met people who don’t like their birth, or their life- or even themselves. So I am stuck.”
“How about beginnings Dad? Everyone likes a good beginning, and almost everyone except movie critics like a Happy Ending.”
I laughed out loud. Movies had become darker, more somber, heartless in a way- just look at the Academy Awards over the last few years. Some of those movies were so drowned in irony, depression and hopelessness that they could barely climb above sadness to melancholy. Yet my daughter had a point, most of us want a better future, and a fresh start on it.
“Remember Honey, I want to write a story with something for everyone. The challenge with that is not beginnings or endings, for we each only get one of each of those for life- birth/death. But it is in the Middle where all the good stuff lives- the dash (if you will). In talking with you tonight, I have come to the conclusion that every story writes itself. Life is no exception.
I think Snoopy may have been the only author to capture a story everyone would like.”
“Snoopy? The Cartoon Character?!”
“Yes.”
“What did he write that everybody would like?” (She giggled, which is just suppressed Angel laughter)
“It was a dark and stormy night… “
“Why would everybody like that story?”
“Because Honey, everybody gets to write the next line. “
She tousled my hair one more time, bent and kissed the top of my bald head and whispered:
“ It was a dark and stormy night, when the story that everybody liked was written. By my Dad!”
Could you write for everybody?(Kevin Hughes)
I am old now. I can feel seventy breathing down my neck and swelling my knees. I have trouble swallowing-sometimes, and I forget almost as much as I remember. But, I still like stories. All kinds of stories. I have lived long enough that most of them are true, and even the ones that are not, well, they have truths to tell within them. And so…:
“What are you doing Dad?”
“Oh, Hello Honey. I was just sitting here thinking about how to write a story that everyone would like. “
“Wow. That’s quite the goal.” (She chuckled in that same highly amused tone that she did as a child)
“Well, I think it can be done. Maybe. Okay, maybe not. I am not sure. “
“Dad, I can’t think of a single thing that everyone agrees on, let alone a story.”
“Oh, I can Honey.”
“What? Tell me just one thing that everyone agrees on.”
This time it was me that chuckled. Age gives one perspective, a perspective not available to the young. It is the perspective that says: “Never is rarely used correctly, one thing leads to another, and what is surprising about surprises is that you never run out of them in life.”
“Air. Water. Food.”
“Dad! That is what everyone needs, not what they agree on.” She smiled confidently (if a tad condescendingly at her Father)
“Oh, I must disagree with you. Those are not only needs, but needs that everyone would agree we need. They might argue about how much of each, how food should taste, what qualifies as a clean, and things like that; but they would all agree they are necessary.”
(She softened her smile as it turned wry)
“Good point.” (She tousled what was left of his hair; a gentle familiar gesture that rewarded them both)
“But what I want to do Honey, is write a story that everyone would agree is a good story. One that has something for everyone in it. “
“What about love? Doesn’t everyone want love in their life?”
(This time, it was me, who looked up at her with smiling eyes. Leave it to my daughter to believe that everyone needs, deserves, and wants to be loved. I am so proud of her, my eyes are shiny with the glow of her kindness to all: her little sister, her husband, her children, her Mom, Me, and a whole host of other folks who brushed up against her spirit for a bit and found a kind word, hug, or smile tangled up in the rest of their day.)
“I used to think so. Now…well, some folks only want to love themselves and find other folks to be dull, uninteresting, or shallow. I am not sure loving yourself counts as a way of loving.”
Her forehead wrinkled in thought. Her Dad could be intense some times, and his intelligence sometimes seeped out through his words. She knew she would have to think about what he was saying for a long while.
“But Dad, you once told us that learning to be our own best friends and treating ourselves with the same kindness, consideration, and support that we glibly supply our friends and loved ones with - was the hardest lesson to learn. And isn’t that self - love?”
Once again I was struck by how well most people, including my daughter, could reason, if given a reason to think.
“Remember what I said was the biggest hurdle in learning to love yourself?”
She laughed. (It sounded, like it always did to me, like Angel Chimes. I am convinced that the real language of Angels is not music, but laughter)
“Sure. You told us all a million times ( She straightened up, got a serious look on her face, and with a voice filled with pedantic overtones did a very close impersonation of me at my most, well, pedantic.):
‘The most difficult person to forgive is…yourself. For it means you actually took the time to learn who you are. That you aren’t always correct, perfect, or logical, that you have faults, shortcomings, bad habits, and that you are not perfect, and don’t have to be. Then, and only then, can you acknowledge that you made a mistake (or two, or three, or more) and forgive yourself.'”
I clapped my hands at her performance, laughing with the accuracy of it. She stood politely and bowed to the audience of one, made a curtsy and sat back down in the chair next to my writing desk.
“That is why I am stuck trying to write this story that everyone would like. Everyone likes something, but not all things. I wanted to write about love, loss, success, failure, health, and all the many things that people come up with to make their lives full, or empty. For I have lived long enough to know that some people, not the majority, but enough to count; do not want love, friendship, achievement, or to grow. Happiness is not only beyond their reach, it is beyond their ken. “
“Well, Dad, what story would everyone like then?”
“I used to think it would be their story. From birth to wherever they are now in life. But I have met people who don’t like their birth, or their life- or even themselves. So I am stuck.”
“How about beginnings Dad? Everyone likes a good beginning, and almost everyone except movie critics like a Happy Ending.”
I laughed out loud. Movies had become darker, more somber, heartless in a way- just look at the Academy Awards over the last few years. Some of those movies were so drowned in irony, depression and hopelessness that they could barely climb above sadness to melancholy. Yet my daughter had a point, most of us want a better future, and a fresh start on it.
“Remember Honey, I want to write a story with something for everyone. The challenge with that is not beginnings or endings, for we each only get one of each of those for life- birth/death. But it is in the Middle where all the good stuff lives- the dash (if you will). In talking with you tonight, I have come to the conclusion that every story writes itself. Life is no exception.
I think Snoopy may have been the only author to capture a story everyone would like.”
“Snoopy? The Cartoon Character?!”
“Yes.”
“What did he write that everybody would like?” (She giggled, which is just suppressed Angel laughter)
“It was a dark and stormy night… “
“Why would everybody like that story?”
“Because Honey, everybody gets to write the next line. “
She tousled my hair one more time, bent and kissed the top of my bald head and whispered:
“ It was a dark and stormy night, when the story that everybody liked was written. By my Dad!”
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